Painted August 2014
This piece slowly evolved one evening when I was contemplating solitude and the night.
It is a studio piece that was painted from quite a few images I took one evening on the former El Toro Airfield in Irvine, California. The night was cold and no one was around.
It was the perfect setting really for 'saying' something
that I felt is so relevant to all.
I wanted to express utter loneliness and beauty juxtaposed against each other in the dark. Separate yet together at the same time. I suppose I wanted to show visually the relationship
that exists between light and darkness and how that parallels our emotions in an ever changing way.
The way the light receded into the night felt like the ebb and flow of life..a constant state of change within us that does not have a solid line at the end..a continuation if you will of expression that is not limited by the unknown..by the black night that really is not black but a tint of darker turquoise blue that blends into a slight purple..then sprinkles into little sparks of hope..perhaps tomorrow.
I loved the shadows and wanted to paint that vague feeling where the lines blur between feeling that something is beautiful or sad.
We should decide those things on our own..
which is what the singular figure represents.
The individual self.. sitting and observing (perhaps participating when allowed) in the internal dialogue that makes us feel from what we see.
So it is a painting that says different things at different times..and sometimes nothing as all..at least for me anyway.
but it most definitely is for us..for all of us.
October - 2014
In this piece I wanted to portray 'Youth' in a very reflective way.
We all reminisce upon it from time to time..
Rimbaud says it best for this piece "of nocturnal melodies..."
This piece is for the times we hear those melodies.
Man of ordinary constitution,
was not the flesh a fruit hanging in the orchard;
O child days; the body, a treasure to squander;
O to love, the peril or the power of Psyche?
The earth had slopes fertile in princes and in artists,
and lineage and race incited you to crimes and mournings:
the world, your fortune and your peril.
But now, that labor crowned,
you and your calculations,-- you and your impatiences--
are only your dance and your voice, not fixed and not forced,
although a reason for the double consequence
of invention and of success, -- in fraternal
and discreet humanity through an imageless universe;--
might and right reflect your dance and your voice,
appreciated only at present.
_Twenty Years Old_
Instructive voices exiled... Physical candor bitterly quelled...
--Adagio.-- Ah! the infinite egotism of adolescence,
the studious optimism: how the world was full of flowers that summer!
Airs and forms dying... --A choir to calm impotence and absence!
A choir of glasses, of nocturnal melodies...
Quickly, indeed, the nerves take up the chase.
You are still at Anthony's temptation.
The antics of abated zeal,
the grimaces of childish pride, the collapse and the terror.
But you will set yourself at this labor:
all harmonic and architectural possibilities
will surge around your seat.
Perfect beings, never dreamed of,
will present themselves for your experiments.
The curiosity of ancient crowds
and idle wealth will meditatively draw near.
Your memory and your senses
will be simply the nourishment of your creative impulse.
As for the world, when you emerge, what will it have become?
In any case, nothing of what it seems at present.